Tempus Annales
by Nozomi Joestar
Summary: An anthology sharing stories on the life and deeds of Warrior of Light, Vaste Valescoere found in some far flung dusty library. (Updates will come irregularly as I finish them one by one)
1. Just Tall Enough

The scrapping and scratching of pen scribbles echoed through the wide room. Gently the iron chandelier with its melting candles rocked to the sway of the ocean. A pair of burgundy red couches parallel to each other stood hugging the cabin walls. At the end of a large patterned woven rug sat a desk. Directly across the way stood a door; it thrust her head on with whoever entered. The sturdy wooden desk was carved of Lominsan lumber. Atop its worn varnished top a chronometer ticked away. Stacks of paper were neatly arranged in a row before her. She sat hunched over with her nose barely smacking into the sheet. The sounds of her scribbles warred with the chronometer ticks. Their rhythm swung back and forth as if racing to finish each other's sentences.

She hardly noticed when there came a knock at the door. Her head snapped up as she laid down her pen. The knocking redoubled in force.

"Come in."

In strode a giant pale skinned Roegadyn man with tree trunk legs and a barrel chest. His combed beard absorbed the lower half of his face. The squeaking leather of his boots followed his every step; as if they were fit to burst. Adorned in red, it turned his light complexion sickly. He wore no officer's rank save for a feathered beret. The sergeants covet that hat no matter what they look like, she thought.

"Good Af'tenoon First Lieutenahnt! This 'eres yer new second. Sorry 'bout the wait."

"All is well, you…you…er-"

"Chief Storm Sergeant Rhotsyn, ma'am."

"Right."

From the corner of her eye she spied a set of blue Miqo'te ears poking behind the sergeant. They flicked then went still. Piercings shined on them. She craned her head and searched for a face. Sergeant Rhotsyn turned aside, revealing a bright eyed woman. Her face was round with a sharp chin and black curved lines under her slit pupils. A Seeker of the Sun, she thought. The woman stepped forward to the muttering of "Go on girl." by Rhotsyn. With great enthusiasm she snapped at attention and saluted. Her thick accent made Sokhatai's face pinch. The sound hissed its 'H' and purred its 'R' as if spitting and nearly gargling.

"Second Lieutenant Vaste Valescoere. An honor to meet you, First Lieutenant. I'm attached from the Foreign Levy."

"Yes, quite. Welcome Second Lieutenant, I'm sure you'll do well here. Have you any experience with adjunct work?"

"No I've never done much of that. What is it again?"

Sokhatai's horns blushed and could have steamed then lit ablaze. Her lips quivered ever so slightly as she swallowed a laugh. Instead she settled for widening her eyes in bewilderment.

"It means to be another's subordinate."

"Then no, no I can't say I have."

She watched as Vaste stood straight and held her head up. If she felt embarrassed, she held it well; though something told Sokhatai she'd merely accepted her ignorance. The sergeant, (What had been his name again?) remained at ease in silence. He shifted awkwardly and slowly drifted his eyes back and forth between them.

"You may leave us Sergeant."

"Ma'am."

He about faced with precision and strode out, shutting the door behind. They were left alone in an unfamiliar air. She scrutinized Vaste's appearance. The woman was lean, with muscle built on a lifetime of gutting vicious desert worms, training, and combat. The red and black of her uniform gave her a sharp look. Beneath her face tattoos were faded pink markings resembling whisker lines. As Sokhatai's eyes traveled upward, her neck began to crane; until her head tilted severely. Vaste kept staring ahead, fixing on the Maelstrom banner behind Sokhatai's desk. She fidgeted her fingers. Sokhatai hummed and tapped her chin in contemplation.

"Remain at attention Second Lieutenant. There is something I would assess."

She rummaged through her desk, opening one drawer at a time. In moments a yalm stick emerged in her grip. Vaste's eyes widened like golf balls as her face crumpled in terror. Her teeth clenched and she recoiled backward. Her arms shielded her face.

"This isn't some punishment is it?!"

"Hold still or I won't get an accurate reading."

She threw down her arms and stiffened in place. Without hesitation Sokhatai planted the starting end of the stick toward the ground. Vaste searched her face for an emotion. There was none save for a blasé, almost vacant stare. It made her skin crawl. Sokhatai hummed and flit her eyes across the measurement marks. After a pause, she nodded her head, then pulled away. Finally, she rested the stick on one shoulder, before touching the side of her hand to her forehead. Vaste's eyes shot down her nose as she followed. It slowly stretched and stopped just below her chin. Again Sokhatai nodded as if agreeing with herself then lowered her hand.

"The gap isn't very large. I'm comfortable taking you on as an adjunct."

"T-Thank you First Lieutenant…"

"Well now, you may start by delivering my daily report once it is complete."

Vaste hurried to salute, her janky gesture bordering on comical. She replied with bursting enthusiasm.

"Yes Ma'am!"

"And from now on you should stand beside me in ways that maximize my height."

Her eyes widened in realization. She scanned Sokhatai's diminished stature from head to toe. A laugh stifled and died within her; its remnants manifested as an awkward grin.

"I shall!."


	2. Intimacy

"There's no reason to be afraid."

She grazed her fingers along Yugiri's jaw tentatively.

"What makes you so certain?"

"Well…it's new for us both."

"You've never?"

She nervously chuckled and averted her eyes.

"No."

Her fingers stopped at Yugiri's chin and held it. She pulled away when a delicate weight lay on her breast. They embraced in the silence. If she focused hard enough Vaste could feel Yugiri's heartbeats. The small hitch in Yugiri's breath when she felt the scales on her arm caressed made Vaste smirk. She chuckled and earned a halfhearted pout. Without a word she kissed her forehead, then her nose, and lingered on her calloused fingertips. Yugiri shuddered and when their eyes met she found concern on Vaste's face. A reassuring smile wiped away the concern as Yugiri kissed her. There was a soft laugh like falling rain between them when they parted.

Their second kiss came slowly as if searching for the last of their hesitations. With a gentle push they fell onto the bed. Vaste's eyes were lit with an emotion Yugiri couldn't place. It was more an intensity, a fervent storm that could raise lovers from the dead, or drive minstrels to tears. The sight made her recall a distant tavern love song she'd been too polite to compliment. It amazed her that even here nothing captured Vaste better than poetics. There was a terror in that, in the displacement of the superhuman against the rest of reality.

But this was not the place for philosophy. Not with the passionate kisses against her neck, or the scent of sea spray and lilacs. Her arms wrapped tighter around those familiar muscled shoulders instead. Their dips and valleys brought the night that much closer until it drew a curtain. The morning could bring its uncertainties, could rob them of this embrace. That was far away, through the windows, the clouds, and into forever.


	3. First Cold

The chill bit into her skin so sharply it could steal her breath. It made her curl in her knees, hike up her threadbare cloak, and bemoan her skimpy clothes. They'd done all too well in the dunes of the Sagolii, or the outlaying lands near Ul'Dah. There the sun would sooner singe hair and cloth alike to pull anyone in more than separates to a drowsy grave. She looked at the goosebumps along her arms. The chill snarled into cold that dug toward her bones. A shiver, one of the first in her life and certainly not the last, sent her teeth clattering.

She clutched her nicked spear with shaking red fingers. The varnish had long worn away and its blade couldn't cut rope. With each breath she watched puffs of air float past the shed roof toward the grey sky. The rain pitter pattered a rhythm against the wood. A small flood splattered onto her head as she tugged down her hood. It made her grit her teeth. Her grip tightened around her spear. Her heart pumped furiously making her blood run hot. The anger brought faint warmth.

Her tail hairs bristled as she wrapped it around her waist. The mistake announced itself in a new cold of wet water against her stomach. Instinctively she hissed, baring her teeth. She gnashed a curse in the U Tribe tongue. As she sat the stillness held. Not a cart or walking traveler passed. The rain pounded the road into mud. The tree leaves swayed as if wiggling their hands. She felt her coin purse. There was hardly enough gil worth counting. She lowered her hand and shut her eyes. Time returned whenever her eyes fluttered in and out of sleep.

Somewhere in between the shadows grew long; the sun hid behind twilight. The rain had passed. Her stomach churned violently with sharp pain. It crawled up her throat, shoving her to wakefulness and the bitter weather. The chill slapped her across the face, widening her eyes. Again there were no others as poked her head out. Her ears folded, her tail curled in. She held herself and rubbed her arms frantically. The breeze fanned, poised to strike and shove her down once more.

It was then she heard the sound of voices and chocobo footsteps pressing the mud. Following it on its tail came the churning of wheels; a yellow balloon shaped tarp enshrouded a caravan on the horizon. At last a smile brightened her face as she darted onto the road. She raised her arms and waved frantically. Within moments the chocobos were stopped fulms away. Her heart ached when an arrow aimed for her face. The driver glared beneath his pronounced weather beaten brow. It wiped the smile she wore like clearing an etch a sketch. His voice was a gravel rough baritone.

"Put that godsdamned spear down or I won't hesitate."

She traced his line of sight to her right hand. It remained gripped around the worn haft. Her knuckles had gone white. Her eyes went wide as saucers; she set it to the ground, trembling.

"Move away from it."

She shuffled a few fulms backward. A new voice, a softer but worldly man joined in. His head was wrapped in a turban poking from the starboard side.

"Now what by 'e Twelve is goin'-"

"What's your name girl? You wanted?"

Her words poured from her lips a jumbled mess lost in a series of hisses. The puzzle of her native tongue twisted the driver's face into confusion. For a second time the passenger spoke up.

"Nophica's tits man what's holdin' you?! Who's there?"

"Some Miqo'te won't explain why that spear on the ground was in her hands ahead of us. You shut yer yap, let me handle her."

The arrow remained notched on his bow, pointed at the scar across her nose bridge. Slowly her voice became clear. The common language she bent primitive in the way a child struggles to master grammar.

"Name is U'ral-no no…is Vaste Valescoere. Mean no harm, seek way for Gridania. You help me yes? I pay."

She clipped her coin purse from her belt and held it up. With her red fingers still shaking she opened it to dump the contents on her palm. Five dull gil were clenched in her hand. She shoved it before the driver who sat dumbfounded. He lowered his bow and leaned forward squinting. Pity danced with disbelief across his face. He shook his head.

"You're right cracked if you think that'll buy you more 'an a loaf cheap bread."

He inspected her drab clothes and exposed midriff, scrutinizing. His bushy brows shot up.

"And even worse off to leave Thanalan addin' nothin' but a sheet on those. Twelve are all that's keepin' you standin'!"

She cocked her head in confusion; his accent had descended into a slur. Her hand continued to hold the coins. A desperate plea rose to a shout from her eyes.

"Please! Must go to Gridania, going to learn."

Her eyes darted to her spear and she pointed toward it.

"Training to use this better; want to do adventuring."

The driver sighed and set away his bow. For a moment he stroked his beard in thought. Then, finally, shook his head defeated.

"You poor dumb sod, at the very least I'd feel better not being responsible for a death out here. Get in."

He extended his hand making her smile from ear to ear. She deposited the coins and retrieved the unsheathed spear. Against the frigid air her strong legs felt like jelly. In seconds she reached the back carriage, still wearing her joy plain. A man with the voice of the stranger looked up from a swig of wine. Beside him sat a pair of dozing twins with startling white hair. She climbed in and rested on the opposite bench. The chocobos were whipped and the carriage moved. The man spoke kindly.

"Hullo, you must be the lass who made mischief. Care for a drink? This stuff'll warm ye right in this weather."

His words went over her and past the fall of her naïve smile. She shook her head when he tilted the bottle forward. Without missing a beat he shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the carriage wall. The road began to wind and the trees to meld. The wind blew making her wrap her cloak and her heart grow lighter.


	4. Interlude - Preface

To The Reader:

In ages past, present, and inevitably toward the future, Eorzea has continuously experienced crisis. On the heels of the Fifth Calamity only five years before this writing, the world was left to pick up lost lives, to wander in the direction of rebirth. It has been certainly however, not without lingering pains and new conflicts. Primals have been summoned and felled. Beast tribes have continued to provoke the borders of the city states. More events of gargantuan size have occurred in succession than could be thought possible.

With the reclamation and reopening of nations such Ala Mhigo and Doma, in addition to the quelling of Ishgard, our continent has been allowed not only economic stability; but new leisure's on the horizon in relative safety. The common citizen and wealthy alike will find reinvented purpose for their time at haunts familiar and foreign. Between the wars and political exchanges surrounding them, a new face has emerged. Unlike our lost heroes before the Calamity whose names and faces have been regrettably swallowed by time, minstrels now sing of a single Warrior of Light. Most happily, readers, her name is known throughout the land, made at once myth yet tangible legend.

Succeeding the footsteps of her predecessors, Vaste Valescoere has wrought a unified hope much longed for. Few eras can know the awe of emotion in watching peace overcome problems once thought unsolvable from one day to the next. To the honor of posterity, this tome has been dedicated to her deeds. It is only appropriate therefore, to provide a summation of her life, if such a thing can truly apply.

Born to the Sun Seeker U Tribe residing in the Sagolii Desert, otherwise called the Drakes, known among themselves as the desert's children, she was christened U'ralhana Odh. They raised her under a lifestyle most would regard primitive, with hunting being the focus of business. Drakes are known for their stubborn, aloof, and frank attitudes too proud for assistance. When a youth intends to become a hunter, they must collect seven vials of sundrake blood. Only then are they considered having come of age and given a place in society.

It may strike the observer as odd therefore, that Vaste defies these expectations at a glance; though she has become a worldly figure. She sports a love for combat, selfless deeds, a sociable nature, and a warm easy smile. It may be some hidden habits die hard and remain still steeped in these childhood values. There is certainly much to say for her character in accepting a time of banishment from the tribe for wishing to adventure beyond finding the day's kill.

Ever pressing forward, a trait that would persist into heroism, she made her way north toward Gridania. Having heard of the city's school for lancers through what little outside trade impacted the Drakes, she arrived barely able to communicate in our ordinary language. Compounding this difficulty was her illiteracy despite being twenty one years old.

Such was the nature of remote desert living.

What followed began the birth of a legend under a crucible of errand running alongside martial study. None can say for sure how long it took before she was pulled into the storm against Garlean pressure to finish their work during the Calamity. Some say it began when she joined the Maelstrom's Foreign Levy. Others say it was the moment she was chosen as the Gridanian Envoy to organize a memorial service. To some it came in battles against beast tribes or vilekin in dark places. Others still believe it only began at the storming of the Praetorium.

Regardless none can deny the weight of these achievements, nor that challenges continued to appear. Though peace had been won for the main city states, our Ishgardian neighbors found dragons upon them. Again Vaste, now recognized as a venerable Warrior of Light, jumped into action. Not many documented eyewitness reports can be found beyond major events with crowds present. Within even the educated circles there is a struggle to accurately recount her journey's intimate details. In these the Scions of The Seventh Dawn have been closely guarded.

We have knowledge of the frustrating basics. We know the terrible betrayal of Estinien under possession by Nidhogg; the panic of Shiva, the seizure of Lady Iceheart and her heretics upon men's hearts. The Dragonsong War opened in a scuttle of confusion that spread its tendrils like an infiltration of the veins. Our Warrior of Light, rumored to have arrived in Ishgard seeking asylum after the believed poisoning of Sultana Nanamo Ul Namo, was spied frequenting House Fortemps perhaps gathering allies. From these high places, a far cry compared to humble Gridania, Vaste's place began to cement its recognition.

Eventually the grand plot within the Holy See, destined to shake Ishgardian society to its core, was exposed at the cost of a life. Lord Haurchefant Greystone paid the ultimate sacrifice among many. Rumor suggests he died for being a bastard son stepping beyond his station. Another account argues it was for resistance against the Archbishop. When asked about the circumstances Vaste reportedly burst into tears. She wore vacant eyes and said, 'It should have been me not him.'

Readers, what more could be said surrounding the truth of such tragedy?

With the opening of Ishgard in the aftermath, there were other matters of liberation.

But perhaps I have lost you in tales well known. Tales that are not quite yet tales as they still are raw facts and premature rumor.

Let us instead return readers to a curiosity that may have befallen you. How is it our hero wears a name not given at her birth? It is a simple question with a curious answer. She claims to have given it herself. Despite never so much as having held a pen in her childhood, there were always words. It melded with her natural inquisitiveness. To this end, it did not daunt her as a girl to interrogate what few traders passed. The effort garnered her knowledge of foreign oral histories to the dismay of her family. In between was pressed one merchant hosting a far flung scholar who counted linguistics one of their talents.

Thus by her account began secret lessons on whatever sounds caught her ear. Among these were fledgling educations in our common language, and an ancient precursor to modern Garlean. The latter she described as restricted to handfuls of terms. This was to not offend folk by flattering the empire's recent reputation; worse yet to stand out among the Drakes. From this latter instruction her new name was born. It was chosen the day she stepped into the broader world, bound for Gridania and proclaimed dead to the U. In her words, it was a fitting gesture.

The first word translates as widely, representing limitless space. Upon some further study, it may also mean uncouth or coarsely. The double meaning is not lost to her, but made her smile. She believes it goes well with the surname, Valescoere. This word means to grow strong. Thereby one calls her, she who widely or coarsely grows strong. Its focus on strength carries a tribute to the values of the U Tribe in resolute fitness and willpower. Curiously, the pronunciation is greatly foreign to today's Garlean. Take for instance, readers, the letter V in both words. Contrary to its appearance, it is read as a W. When asked, Vaste proclaimed this to be correct classical pronunciation.

What then of her other identity? Should there be a distinction to regard U'ralhana Odh as long reclaimed by the aether?

She grew uncharacteristically withdrawn at this inquiry. By her admission, the name tentatively exists as hers. It is used only among those closest, to which she snappily reminded our interviewers they were not. Even fewer are those who know her by the intimate custom of calling a Miqo'te woman only her given name. Respecting her wishes, I shall refrain from stating it. Her single comment regarding this honor is that it belongs to a child of the sea. Therefore between them, it is for no one else to take.

But that is neither here nor there, readers. This tome has been compiled of numerous stories; some experienced firsthand, others wildly imaginative. It is the hope and intention while counting its archival purpose that you dear readers find it enduring to time.

Humbly,

First Scribe Apolline Delacroix, Fifth Year of the Seventh Astral Era


	5. The Woman From The Seas

The myriad of rustling bamboo leaves cast dancing shadows that obscured their faces; the gust of wind following did little to whisk away the silence bearing down between them. Nor did it do anything for the haze of feelings unexpressed hovering in the air. She swallowed hard, her eyes softening in concern. Yugiri's eyes brimming over half formed tears was a sobering jackboot of worry atop the ever-present indescribable storm that swirled within her. Her hand itched to reach out, to stroke her face; it instead curled and yearned.

Her ears perked then twitched at the sound of Yugiri's stern voice plied soft, threatening to break. The passionately armored pride of Doma seemed to crack alongside her revealing but a woman beneath the pieces.

"That damned accursed bastard of a man tossed us aside like swatting flies. He was raised a spoiled prince and yet, and yet all my might naught but scratched his armor."

Vaste watched as she trembled; her elegant yet practically arranged hair bristling in fury. She'd seethed out each word and appeared to spit the last as though shooting venom. Wordlessly Vaste knit her face recalling defeat; silenced still by a replica of the ball that'd caught in her throat seeing Zenos knock Yugiri aside. How her body had crumpled. How pain nearly knocked the life from her breath.

His eyes had been unreadable rooted so deeply in bloodlust that any rousing emotion beyond it had been smothered. Her heart had screamed to slice and puncture him into a pulpy mush; should her spear have broken then with her nails and teeth. It was this hardness that darkened her face as she spoke. Her native Drake accent bared the full weight of its hissing and purring tones.

"The day will come where he is the bloodied prey disgraced and stripped of all he lays claim to. On that day what happened here will be forgotten."

She dared to tenderly touch Yugiri's hand and stifled a gasp when it was held in return. Slowly their eyes met; the tears now fell down Yugiri's chin. The sight made everything within her ease into gentleness. She continued.

"Our failure is no more temporary than his reign of terror. I swear it."

"Even the Warrior of Light is no oracle. All things rise then pass in their time. Our cause is not exempt. There is every equal chance the Resistance in its fragile state may fall before his turn comes."

"Is your faith in your friends so readily broken?"

The blunt edge to her reprimand came harder than she intended. She felt Yugiri tense and her own chest tighten. In seconds she stumbled to find her words and compose any apology before she was hushed by a glance. She saw Yugiri close her eyes and breathe deeply; a semblance of order had flooded back to her. Their came a small squeeze at their held hands; Yugiri looked down.

"That wasn't my intention. Life's current is merely unpredictable save in the eyes of the kami. We mustn't let lofty hopes cloud our judgement."

Vaste chuckled.

"This from the woman who defied Hien and Gosetsu to convince stubborn Domans of their dignity; to say that is unlike you."

"You'd do well to know I am of many facets." was the reply as Yugiri concealed a blush by wiping her face.

Chasing a bold impulse Vaste said,

"Then what facet is this standing before us?"

"…You tease me."

"Ah, so even the greatest shinobi can be shy."

The playful smile Vaste wore vanished feeling Yugiri separate from her grasp. She cocked her head in confusion as what comfort she'd mustered soured into anxiety. Her heart thudded harder and seemed to pulsate through her being. Nervously she licked her lips unprepared for guessing at whatever was next. When she found Yugiri's eyes on her any possible speeches she could've conceived dissipated.

"All of you are too kind to the naïve fool I am through and through. It is more than I deserve for my repeated weaknesses. I am unworthy of our enemy, at moments unworthy of even my honor."

"Nonsense, that is not who you are, not completely. It's certainly not how you may always remain either. Everyone is here to do our part and help one another."

"Right as you are it is never any help lingering on a weak link-"

Following an impulse Vaste seized her hands and drew closer until their chests were a hairsbreadth apart. Nothing less than hurt flashed across her expression; a blink of lightening striking the rod she was. Her voice grew low rumbling and ready to disappear.

"Don't say another word like that."

Yugiri's aimless downtrodden stare quietly began to search every detail of Vaste's face. It made her swallow hard, her breath hitching. Her nerves buzzed with an electric sensation; the pound of her heartbeat flooded her ears. Then there came the question she'd imagined in her dreams.

"Why do I occupy your mind so fondly?"

"It's, it's not only myself. There are the others."

"Yes but you seem most keen on my affairs."

"Because I…"

Vaste quivered and halted herself for a pause mustering the courage to look at object of her affections as she was. She felt her cheeks burn hot. For a brief moment she recalled the dozen eikons she'd slayed, the evils laid low, the moments she'd foiled the hovering sword that was Garlemald. None now appeared to fray her nerve under Yugiri's watchful eye. She sighed in relief when she was spared any talk upon a reply. Again she felt a squeeze at her hands followed by an overload of her senses. The bamboos shadows danced playful across their faces.

"Could it be that you too…"

"What about me?" She whispered leaning closer. Yugiri's eyes flit away above her blush. The edges of her slender horns were tinged pink.

"No it couldn't be, forgive my odd words."

She hung her head and shook it as though defeated. It lasted not a moment before Vaste wrapped an arm around her. She was pressed against her chest and stood silent, leaning in without complaint. There came the rough but crudely melodic sound of armor clinking softly when Vaste stroked her jaw. Yugiri lifted her head with an expression wanting of a thousand unspoken hopes; her eyes wide and anticipating she'd be woken from a fanciful dream.

Vaste parted her lips and leaned closer though still she hesitated. Thoughtfully Yugiri guided one of the woman's hands onto her waist. She shut her eyes and nodded slowly, letting out a shaky breath. For the rest of her life no moment could replicate the gentle feel of Vaste kissing her forehead. Before she could react another pressed against her cheek, her nose, the corner of her lips. She kept her eyes closed as she leaned her mouth forward. She heard Vaste softly gasp.

The air was far too warm, their senses far too flooded when their lips met. They embraced and clung tight to one another fearing the other would vanish. That this moment would reveal itself to indeed be an imaginative haze. Their fingers tangled in each other's hair; Vaste cradled the back of Yugiri's head until at last they parted. Together they gathered themselves and rested their foreheads against each other.

"Now do you understand?" She asked breathing into the syllables.

"Yes."

They smiled in unison as they kissed again and again with greater confidence. Each fanned higher the once hidden flames of longing they'd known.

"Never belittle yourself so again."

"I shouldn't with one so generous to remind me otherwise."

Vaste smirked.

"Fool."

A/N: I haven't written here in a year and the first thing I do is say Gay Rights; more to come


	6. Made Anew

She staggered on the noon sands that heated her aching feet through her sandals. The end of her hunting spear with its wickedly sharp edge trailed the ground in her hands. Its blade was still crusted with blood in places she'd been unable to reach. Her hands too were tinged red almost brown like an aging scab. She continued beside the deep and many clawed tracks. In minutes she grew short of breath, stopped by the intensified sun beating down on her turban. Sweat flowed down the back of her neck, her face, dried in her close cropped hair.

With a sticky hand she wiped herself and sighed. She stuck her spear deep in the packed earth and leaned against it while reaching for the hollowed sandworm egg on her belt. The traditional makeshift canteen gave her two mouthfuls of water; even this much by her estimate was careless. Reluctantly she put it away as a child returns a dessert they've been reprimanded against taking. Her vision grew hazy as she peered along the tracks, unmistakably a sundrake's. A fortnight before the very idea of encountering one provoked wild images of triumph and exhilarating tests of will.

She slumped against the spear haft and sank to her knees. On cue her stomach churned painfully and grumbled; ready to throw its fit now that her thirst had been slaked. She groaned for nothing ever came easily. The dulled heat of the ground buffeted by her tunic made her bruised muscles throb harder; an urge to sleep sapped her strength. Again her stomach twisted with renewed intensity that made her roll onto her side and curl. Greedily she searched her small slung bag past the six vials of sundrake blood to find one strip of meat.

It tasted plain and chewed like eating paper but restored some clarity to her thoughts. Her past successes told her the quarry would be approaching its nest soon and rest until dusk. Beyond that window she would need to wait until midnight before it slept again. She tapped her fingers slowly and closed her eyes. After several moments a plan was molded into shape. But first, she needed lunch.

Amongst the crisscross of tracks crowding the ground she picked out an angler with ease. She bent down and grabbed a handful of sand; the winds carried it against her. With a smile she stalked the trail, her spear a walking stick. There was little struggle to put on its mind and imagine the story that told where it was. She tracked it several paces away at the foot of a dune that she found the creature waddling about. She licked her lips and readied her spear, her eyes widened hungrily.

The harsh yellows of the land flooded with sunlight made its camouflage near impossible to discern. A typical trade caravan or traveling party from the Beyond accustomed to their civilization could be besieged by a roving pack of the small beasts; shredded into bone by their maw of fanged teeth.

But that was their weakness with which to be concerned; all U were the desert's children. Her approach came in low and the wind still blew on her face. The angler's bulbous eyes hung by the sinew attached to its head. Each eye moved and saw independently scanning the empty dunes accompanied by chittering from its gaping mouth. It sniffed the air. It was late to turn around when she sprung from her crouch. With careful aim she impaled its soft neck in one strike. The creature screamed and thrashed as she drove the blade deeper. Its fervor threatened to tear the haft from her hands but she gripped until her knuckles paled. When at last the steel pierced into the ground it groaned then fell silent.

She gathered maiden grass to tie the angler's eye stalks to its tail. When the knot was secure she buried it at her feet. A campfire was easy to start using an improvised bow drill. The flames rose higher fueled by the leftover grass. Silently she bent her knee and touched a fist to her lips. She thanked Azyema for hearing her need and providing one of her creatures. Quickly she added a prayer for her tribe and success to its hunters.

Two hours passed that saw her tending the flames and spreading the coals. Her face glistened with sweat from her work and stung her eyes. At last the time came for her to pull up the angler, its skin now golden brown beneath ash. The meat it carried was modest yet terribly sour raw; a mistake she'd learned after seeing one dead for the first time. Though cooked it tasted gamey which in her view remained a better option. She'd split it open with the strength of her hands and gnawed to the bone what was edible.

Almost immediately after tossing the last bone into the extinguished fire she sprung up. Life returned to her eyes and she seized her spear bristling with energy. One by one she stretched her limbs before backtracking to the sundrake trail. By their sheer depth and a bit of luck the prints remained gouged deep in the earth. As she walked they told her it dragged its right leg. Its tail too slouched and carved a path in its wake.

Her blood boiled as a tingle spread through her; the hairs on her nape stood. A grin spread across her face. She moved with greater gleeful enthusiasm that broke into a run. The tracks grew fresher and fresher as she ran tireless on the sands channeling a primal excitement. It was weak, an easy kill. There'd be no bared fangs, quick strikes or protest. She would catch it weary to slit its throat and be done with her ordeal. The hunters would welcome her to their fold; her father would smile as he finally pat her head.

An hour remained till dusk when she caught up to the beast's lair. Bones were scattered around the mouth of a pitch dark cave. Smeared blood and fur squished underfoot as she advanced. Just at the stones that enticed one further inside she stopped. She scanned the narrow passageway with its foul air then looked behind her. Though cluttered by debris the path outside the opening could hide no secrets. Another plan materialized as the cogs turned in her mind.

Gathering several anglers was an easy task given their numbers. In no time she skinned and tossed each before the entrance. Hoisting her spear's counterweight she banged a commotion against the stones. Immediately after she broke for the meager cliff wall and scaled it, senses sharpened, eyes ever searching. She laid herself prone. Her stomach tensed as every muscle coiled like a spring; as though her ancestors were pressing their hands upon her to lend strength.

Sure enough within moments an earth shaking rumble emerged from the cave depths. She felt the ground tremble beneath her, the vibrations rattle her teeth. Slowly she dared look below. Out thundered a mass of thick black scales atop which sat fang curved spines; the sundrake. Its scale encrusted head was raised as it sniffed the air. Gnarled scars decorated its body indiscriminately. Across its brow alone was the length of half a man. Though indeed it had a limp it made up for the deficiency using sheer force of momentum. In seconds it spotted the bait and scampered towards it. Its girth tread a groove in its wake.

The sloppy, wet crunching of bones and cartilage snapping as it ate sent a shiver up her spine. For a pause she watched all at once enraptured and shamefully terrified. The hand gripping her spear went clammy; her bravado wavered. Occasionally its head would tilt to reveal fangs glistening red. It was far bigger than any she'd encountered.

A burst of anger in her father's voice struck her mind in the force of a hammer. Hesitation would kill her, but before then fear would cripple. Fear was the mind killer; one overwhelmed by it the ultimate extinction. Before the world could grow hazy and blur in delirium she jumped to her feet. Taking the spear in both hands she aimed for the back of its neck where the scales were weakest.

There was no time to think as she grew swept by a storm and became its eye in her adrenaline. She jumped from the cliff and thrust the blade outward. It plunged with all the speed of her slender weight behind it. The sundrake roared thrashing its head toward the sky. Its blood splattered its brown-black ooze onto the sands; poured in rivers from her blade as she yanked it free. She stood mounted on its back entranced a second too long. It thrashed back its front legs and swatted her aside.

The world shifted to an incomprehensible blur for seconds that passed like minutes. The air was knocked clean from her lungs, her being. She gave up reorienting herself until her body crashed and skipped like a stone. A gust of dirt choked her mouth as she felt bile well in her tongue on final impact. Her brain seemed to slosh in her ears, her vision dizzy and shapes spinning. Underneath her the earth's trembling signaled the beast on the move. Urgency built in her muscles as adrenaline flooded her veins. Though her movements were sluggish she willed herself on her feet.

The blow had caught her square on the chest. Relief flooded her to find her spear thus unbroken though it died as suddenly as she felt two cracked ribs. It left a tight fist gripping sensation in her sternum. There was no time to spare when the sundrake spotted the whole of her and raced forward eyes bloodshot; its mouth only teeth and darkness. She almost flung herself out of the way seconds before it crashed where she'd stood. Her hair stood on end as goosebumps flushed her skin.

The sundrake required a moment to gather itself and gave her precious seconds. Half bowed over she staggered behind it. Her eyes were shifting, scanning, searching over the length of its body, its legs. In piercing clarity the memory that it bore a wounded leg emerged from the murk that'd become her thoughts. Quickly she angled herself as sturdily as she could and raised her spear. Her heart thundered now in her ears, made her skull pulsate with one last plan. She found and struck the old wound within the folds of its right hind. Again it reared itself and roared loud enough to shake her body to its frame. This time she plunged the blade to the haft; her shoulder she braced against its side. In an instant she howled in equal pain from the strain on her wounds as she shoved.

Her feet dug into the ground then sailed upward after the sundrake that flopped on its back. The momentum lifted her just above its flailing body where she landed. Pain wracked her spine from top to bottom and every direction. She knew the hot numbing pain that came with muscle tears and bruising. She screamed. Her legs staggered forward to move around and strike its underbelly when another explosion of pain burst across her face. The beast had whipped its tail at her approach drawing streams of blood in its wake. Another scream tore through her.

She pawed her face delicately and held one hand there while the other extended its nails. If she'd moved ilms closer than it would be the entirety of her skin scrapped raw. Ducking and weaving she dodged any reprisal attacks from the tail. With that hurdle cleared she met the beast eye to eye; its pierced neck spurted fresh blood. Her one eye unclouded by her own red widened in realization; it was choking. The violent thrashing had likely torn its neck wound further, and now it drowned on its own lifeblood.

Its movements grew sluggish at this fact. She reached for the exposed end of her spear and pulled it free. Her tail swished slow and cautious, almost fearful. She'd be reluctant to admit it. Carefully she removed the hand from her face. It trembled even as she grabbed the spear in a secure grip. There was no time to retrieve a clean vial; by her guess those she'd collected may have shattered in the fight. It'd been a foolish mistake not to remove her bag at the start. She was too eager, careless. It was a lesson learned.

There was but one way that appeared in her mind to rectify the loss. She hefted her spear and stabbed the sundrake in its heart; its heaving breath went silent.

The village appeared to mimic a well-oiled automation pausing from the sudden break of a cog. The many fit fearless huntresses turned their heads in alarm at a cry sweeping through the air. A gate guard shouted with such force her sisters suspected her lungs might give. She stood pointing in awe beyond her post.

"U'ralhana has returned! She brings the blood of drakes! She claims the rite of the hunt!"

A storm of activity broke the stillness like shattered glass. Where there'd been utter pause there flooded a surge of frantic activity. Women hustled out the children alongside what few men there were. They flooded the main square in an organized throng. Among the scrambling huntresses one raced to the stone hut deepest within. Not a minute later a weather-beaten man of middle age and scars emerged. His hair, ears, and tail were a startling frost white against his dark skin. Tattoos lined his face in abundance accentuating the gruffness in his bearing. All who saw him pass parted at his coming. He walked with urgent strides and his expression unreadable to those who couldn't spy the concern. A boy of six followed his father with his eyes to the foot of the gates. He craned his neck to whisper to one of his grown sisters; the black marks of a huntress scrunched on her pensive face.

"Is sister Rala back? She's been gone so long I was scared."

"Hush Ingwe she is approaching father to speak."

His gaze flits back to the commotion indeed finding U'ralhana parting a path. Her clothes and skin were congealed by a day's old blood. Her face that'd smiled and joked so easily towards him during play was concealed beneath more blood and a wicked gash across her nose-bridge. U'ingwe could soon no longer tell where the semblance of her began and this stranger ended. She'd stopped their father in his tracks with a look as she came within arm's length.

It was then he and the collective shared a startled gasp. The sound washed over them in the breadth of a wave as they looked to her hands. In one she gripped the pole of viscera that'd become her spear. The other extended toward their father's chest without hesitation. A severed sundrake head fell at his feet; its tongue bulging out its mouth like a slug. Its eyes were a milky clouded white that seared into memory.

U'ralhana Odh removed her slung bag and held it out. Her father U'odh Nunh received it with slowly outstretched hands. There was a moment of absolute quiet; they spoke only through their eyes. He hid the unease that would threaten to topple him were it not for the weight of dozens of eyes upon him. She however, ever perceptive, read its traces. She stood straight backed wearing the pride of her fourteen summers leading down this path. He watched her speak, unsure of whose voice he now heard.

"I have completed the trial father. I may be made a huntress. I will provide for the tribe with all I am."

He nodded slowly, dumbly.

"Indeed you have and you shall. Well done child."

She was brought inside away from prying eyes; the blood scrubbed from her face. She was allowed at last to remove her turban. Out spilled her blue hair darkened by its natural black highlights and matted with grime. Several of her sisters attended her spreading salves along her wounds. Seated at his table her father looked on in between counting the vials from her bag. He left his words unsaid until she was bandaged and the ink for her marks required preparation. They were left alone in the room before a roaring cookpot that eased the tension. Her stomach growled before either said anything and at last he wore a smile.

She did her best to hide her embarrassment but failed spectacularly.

"It seems you are very hungry as I can imagine. The food shall be ready by the time you've received your tattoos. You may eat your fill then into the night."

She nodded solemnly and tenderly touched the salve smeared slit across her nose. Instantly it made her wince as pain throbbed through her skull. He stopped to set the vials aside and clicked his tongue.

"I can tell for certain that will become a scar. Best to let it heal and not pick."

"I could've done better without getting hurt."

He watched her shoulders sag before she hugged her knees on the seat. There she sat suddenly small as though every drop of pride were evaporated. Her expression fell glum. Here he no longer found the desolate blank stare she'd worn greeting him. In its place he found her thinking, always thinking. Beside her appearance it seized him with memories of her mother; his heart tightened.

"You did very well Ralhana; perhaps too well. Never has anyone returned as you did. I'm sure many will be retelling your exploit in years to come. Wear that knowledge proudly for you've earned it."

He watched her carefully as she rested her chin on her arms. He was powerless to find a measure of the blankness return to her expression. She appeared at once present yet distant as a clap of thunder. The faint wrinkles on his brow furrowed trading his stoicism for worry beyond his control. Any semblance of that word he may have held loosened from his grasp like the earth splitting open when she asked,

"What do I do to rid its dying moments from my mind? How do I stop seeing its face?"

"…That is one of the few sights that may never leave my dear."

"Is that true?"

"I have days and nights wherein I still see clearly those I have sent to meet Azyema. It is a consequence for all who would take life. You now count among such ranks. That is nature."

Something in him ached when she trembled. Tears welled in her eyes though she held them at bay; a practice he regretted leading by example. She chewed her lip to further stop the swell of emotion yet was taken by it all the same. He rose and walked towards her. Spreading his arms marred by years of combat beneath his sleeves he embraced her. She stifled her surprise smothered beneath her quiet sobs.

She received the curved black hunter's marks beneath her eyes in great ceremony. At some distance away U'odh watched as she laughed and chattered excitedly. Several times amidst the feast she was asked to recount her battles. Each request was given the proper enthusiasm. He read easily the places where it faltered for being too perfect and his heart stung. Though she wore in an almost perfect image her mother's looks, he had no doubts where her acting ability had come.

None of it was yet for her to know as he took his place upon the stage setting aside the grief between them.


End file.
